Hubby and I went out to dinner this weekend, a rare treat. He was actually home, and I had both the weekend off AND the brilliance to lock down a babysitter for Saturday night, so off we went.

We got in the car and aimed for a predictable but dependable favorite, the upscale seafood place nearby. It gets pretty crowded, and we had no reservations, but we planned to sit at the bar anyways.

Well, the wait for the bar was as long as the wait for a table, so we left our name with the host and figured we’d stand around with our drinks and watch the Olympics. Hubby found an access point and asked me what I wanted to order.

Huh. It’s been so long since I ordered a drink at a bar… There was a drinks menu, but right off the bat I could see that 99% of the drinks were just not for me. I can’t stand sweet cocktails, ever since an ugly experience as a college sorority pledge that involved cheap peach schnapps and a plan to mix up the perfect “Slippery Nipple”.

Then, I was a vodka martini girl for years, until an ugly experience as a newlywed adult that involved a friend with a much higher alcohol tolerance than me (she’s from Chicago, I should have known better!) and a plan to finally use the extra-extra-large bright pink martini glasses my maid of honor had given me at my bachelorette party. My little liver just couldn’t hack it…

Since the kids came into the picture, my only real drinking has been a glass of wine with dinner, when we actually sit down to dinner together.

I thought about just getting a glass of wine, but that seemed so boring. Plus, I hadn’t eaten anything yet, and I felt like I needed some food to go with my drink. So the perfect choice: a Bloody Mary. Savory, but hearty, like a bowl of tomato soup and a drink mixed into one. Plus, at this restaurant they’ll pin a large, succulent cocktail shrimp on there for you. When the bartender handed me over my drink with this huge shrimp hanging off of it, there were compliments from the people next to us.

By the time we had a table, I was starting to feel nice and tomato-toasty. Then, the other thing this place has that’s so great, is wine flights. This is three small pours of wines that all go together, like, “Whites of the Loire Valley” or “Pinots That Go With Seafood”. Perfect for the indecisive who doesn’t feel like perusing the wine list. Also, it gets you just slightly over one glass of wine.

Whhoooey! By the time my tuna sashimi came, I was feeling grrr-eat! So what do you do when you’re out with your life partner and you’re getting really tipsy?

Obviously, you talk about whether or not to have a third child.

A delicate topic to be sure, which I approached like this.

Him: “Hey, this crab cake is really good.”

Me: “So should we try to have another baby?”

After Hubby stopped choking, we did have a decent conversation. It’s a bit of a moot point really, given our ages. I’m on that other side of forty; him, forty-five. But if we’re done, we need to do something about that. And if we’re not, well, ditto. I know it’s unlikely that we’ll have another at our ages, but, it happens. Hubby’s mother had him in her forties…

We hashed it out, the pros and cons. There’s way more cons. We already have a special needs child. Though, you could argue that Autism’s not that special. There’s so much support for families of children with Autism; so far, we’ve lucked out on the special needs wheel of fortune. As we would carry forward any pregnancy, we would be risking having a child with way more needs. Then there’s our house, only three bedrooms. The finances, another college education. Our temperaments, we get so stressed out already. Our schedules, we both work alot.

This whole time, it was me who kept bringing up the pros, or actually, I just kept saying, “What if we regret not having more?” and Hubby kept bringing up the cons, or actually, just pointing out our reality.

It’s a sad thing, I think, to say we’re done. But, it’s what we both sort of knew going into this conversation.

Even so, it wasn’t until Hubby came up with one killer point that I stopped bringing up the spectre of future regret.

“What about the dog?” He asked.

Right! The dog!

We’ve wanted to get a dog for ages. We do have two very large, spoiled cats who are, honestly, quite dog-like. Raffy and Leo are very good with the kids. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve had their tails tugged, their whiskers pulled, been sat on and squished and hugged with love, and they’re still mellow, ever-present and in all of our faces all the time. God love’em, they’re great pets.

But they’re not dogs. They are independent, a bit standoffish, unpredictable at times, finicky… Good for cats, but not the same as dogs.

The kids both love dogs, they gravitate towards all dogs. Babyboy especially. We’d love to get a dog, the right sort of very special dog, for our family. This may have to be a puppy. And puppies are alot of work. They’re like little infants, really. They have to be potty-trained. They can keep you up all night. They have to be taught everything…

And so, it was decided definitively, beyond a doubt, we’re not having any more babies. We’re getting a fence for our yard. We’re putting the word out: We’re looking for a Very Special Dog.

Disclaimer

Blog entries on clinical matters do not include identifying information nor real details specific to a particular patient. Most are composites of several cases, and use invented descriptors, where descriptors are used at all. This site is not intended to offer clinical advice.

Email Subscription

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.